


Fistful of Love

by dreamofhorses



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Arguing, Blow Jobs, Domestic Disputes, Drunken Shenanigans, M/M, Makeup Sex, Manhandling, Rimming (mild), Roughhousing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-04 23:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18353924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamofhorses/pseuds/dreamofhorses
Summary: “What I want to do is this.” He pushes his hands against Armie’s chest, hard, and Armie steps back as if Timmy’s pushed him. Timmy hates that even in this moment Armie’s still babying him, using Armie’s own strength to pretend Timmy could move him if he wanted to. “And what I end up doing is this.” Timmy grabs Armie roughly at the back of his neck, cranes his neck up and presses his lips to Armie’s, forcefully, Armie’s tongue darting out to welcome his immediately.This comes from a prompt requesting a fairly physical fight between Timmy and Armie, where Timmy is often overpowered by Armie's strength, and with extensive makeup sex afterward. Please heed the tags and then some if you are sensitive to domestic violence. Anger is worked through physically here, though not to the extent of bodily injury.That being said, there is also a lot of smut here, if you, like they, can get past the fighting.Title from the song by Antony and the Johnsons.





	Fistful of Love

“Jesus, Armie, you fucking had to, didn’t you?” Timmy lets the door fly behind him as he enters the foyer, not even caring that it very nearly smacks Armie in the face. “Just once could you  _ not _ end our evening at a nice party by challenging someone to a drinking contest like an overgrown frat boy?”

 

Armie slams the door behind him, hard. Hard enough to make Timmy spin in the middle of the kitchen, brace himself on a counter. Maybe he’s less sober than he thought.

 

“C’mon, Tim, have a sense of humor. That guy laughed, no harm done. Maybe if you joined in one of these days you wouldn’t be so uptight when you get home.” Armie’s voice is rough from cigarettes and cheering other people to chug drinks.

 

“ _ That guy? _ Armie,  _ that guy _ was a producer at A24 and I’ve been talking to him for three months about a project! Now he’ll think my boyfriend is an immature brat. I’ll be lucky if he’s even still got me on the shortlist after tonight and I’ll have to kiss his ass for another two weeks to make up for it!” Timmy whirls around and stalks out of the kitchen, down the stairs to the sunken den. Lying in his path is a stack of scripts Armie’s been reading. Timmy’s polished Louboutin boot catches the corner of the stack, and in his drunken state it’s all he can do to keep from sprawling face-first onto the floor. “FUCK!” Timmy roars, and flings the stack of scripts into the room. A pile of coasters tumbles from the corner of the coffee table onto the plush carpet.

 

“OK, seriously, Timmy, what the fuck.” Armie’s leaning in the doorway, looking deceptively sober because he’s not moving. “If they think you’re good for the part it’s not gonna matter if I challenged that guy to a little harmless beer drinking.”   
  


“It’s all harmless to you, isn’t it? You never have to go back and apologize for yourself because everyone thinks it’s cute on you. They give you food and booze like a circus animal just to see if you’ll stop before you hurt yourself.” Timmy rakes both hands through his curls, shakes his head in an unsuccessful attempt to clear it. “I’m taking a walk. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

 

Timmy climbs the two stairs out of the den and attempts to brush past Armie, who’s still leaning in the doorway. For a moment their thighs align and Timmy feels the heat through Armie’s jeans. He sucks in a breath and smells the tang of the beer Armie’s been drinking all night. The crisp staleness of Armie’s sweat bites through the scent and Timmy’s cock stirs inconveniently at the thought of all the times and places he’s drawn that smell out of Armie.

 

Then he’s stopped dead by Armie wrapping one hand around each of Timmy’s slender wrists, wrapping them behind Timmy’s back in a confining embrace. “Well. If you can’t talk to me when I’m like this, maybe you can do something else.”

 

Timmy struggles, twisting his wrists in Armie’s grip, feeling the callouses on Armie’s fingers slide over the back of his hands. He doesn’t need to remember how some of them got there. Armie rowing them out to the middle of Echo Park Lake, tangling his fist in Timmy’s hair, kissing him under the open sun, whispering against his open mouth  _ let’s fuck in the boathouse before we go home, I don’t wanna wait, you know when the sun hits you like this I realize you’re the star I’m circling around _ . 

 

_ Fuck _ , yeah, that is not what Timmy wants to be remembering right now. 

 

His cock remembers, and swells against the inseam of Armie’s jeans at the memory. “Oh yeah? You like that, huh? You wanna do something besides talk for a change. I see.” Armie’s sobering up, his voice still low but his vowels clearer. Timmy still wants no part of it. Well, the parts of Timmy that aren’t pressed against parts of Armie want no part of it.

 

“Let me go, Armie. I’m gonna go--go get some cigarettes.”

 

Armie chuckles under his breath. He releases his grip a bit so Timmy’s arms rest at his sides but doesn’t let go completely. “Timmy, baby, you don’t smoke.”   
  


“Maybe I want to tonight.” Timmy twists his wrists so fast it surprises Armie, who momentarily releases him. He tries to shove Armie aside but it’s like trying to move El Capitan out of your way so you can keep to your bicycling trail. He scratches his nails on Armie’s ribs, trying to find a ticklish spot and surprise him into moving, when Armie pivots and presses Timmy against the wall of the stairwell.

 

“There are better things to do with that oral fixation,” Armie murmurs, holding Timmy in place with the length of his body and grasping one of Timmy’s hips in each of his giant palms. As Armie runs his thumbs over the crease where Timmy’s thighs meet his groin Timmy moans in spite of himself. He wiggles against Armie, trying to get free, but succeeds only in bringing them closer, breathing in Armie’s heat, feeling him start to stiffen in his jeans.    
  


_ Serves him right _ , Timmy thinks, but the bite is gone from his bitter thought and he realizes he’s sobering up. “C’mon, Armie, move,” Timmy says weakly and pushes off the wall, succeeding only in pushing the two of them back into the kitchen. Armie still has Timmy firmly held at the waist, like he’s a doll,  _ a fucking plastic thing to pose _ , Timmy thinks with the last of his drunken bitterness, and he shapes his elegant fingers into claws and scrapes at Armie’s hands, angling for release.

 

“Aww, little kitten, trying to scratch?” Armie chuckles another dark giggle under his breath and wraps Timmy tighter, folding both arms around Timmy’s waist.  _ God, he’s so warm, _ Timmy thinks before his conscious mind can remember to be mad, and he sags against Armie helplessly. “Shh, shh, there you are. That’s better,” Armie whispers into Timmy’s hair.

 

“Armie,” Timmy sighs, drained, “I’m not  _ better _ . I’m just  _ tired _ . I’m tired of this fight and tired of you not taking me seriously and tired of you always just...pushing me until I give in from exhaustion.”

 

Armie pulls back at that, loosens his grip on Timmy’s waist. “Hey, Timmy, wait. I always figured you liked this, you liked butting heads when we’re tipsy. It’s fun, right? I never mean the shit I say when I’m drunk, you know that.”

 

“Yeah? Well, Armie, I _do_ mean what I say when we fight like this. I try to _always_ mean what I say. And if I don’t mean what I say I feel like shit afterward. And when we fight like this I feel like shit afterward, because I try and try to get back and away from you and get some fucking space and as soon as you touch me that all goes out the goddamn window. And I hate it. And I can’t help it.” Timmy’s voice has gone so low the last line is a whisper.  Timmy pulls back before the kiss can deepen, smooths his hair. He throws Armie a tired glance. “I’m going to bed.”

 

Timmy hasn’t been in bed more than ten minutes, shirt off, window open to the night air, breathing deeply to calm down and move the last of the alcohol through his system, when the bedroom door creaks open. Armie slips into the room. For a minute Timmy considers feigning sleep, letting Armie apologize by taking him out to a huge breakfast in the morning, but then he feels how soft, quiet,  _ submissive _ Armie is as he settles into bed beside Timmy. He’s almost hesitant as he flattens his palm over Timmy’s stomach, pressing against Timmy’s side, propping his head up on his other hand to stare at Timmy in the moonlight. 

 

“Hey, Tim, I’m sorry. I hope it’s not just because I’ve sobered up, but anyway, I feel like shit. I shouldn’t have pushed you around. I shouldn’t have pulled that stunt with the A24 guy. I just--god, I get so nervous at those things, and you’re all naturally charming and I feel like a fraud. And it comes out in these weird ways. Please don’t be mad, Tim, please?”

 

Timmy knows at this angle, in this light, Armie won’t be able to see his eyes when he answers, so he smooths his voice over until there’s no discernible weight to it, no leaning one way or another. “Show me.”

 

“What?” Armie’s hand stiffens against Timmy’s stomach; he goes to draw it back.

 

“If you’re really sorry, then show me.” Timmy interlocks his hands behind his head, kicks off the covers so he’s totally exposed. Then he waits.

 

It takes Armie a moment, but then he scrambles to the foot of the bed, plants himself between Timmy’s feet like a penitent.  _ Maybe that’s what he is _ . He reaches up for Timmy’s boxers, wraps his hands almost all the way around Timmy’s waist under the waistband, strokes Timmy’s stomach with his thumbs. Timmy sighs, wriggles under his touch. “I’m sorry, baby,” Armie whispers in the dark, and then his mouth is on Timmy, pressing into his navel as he whispers again, “I’m so sorry.” The light touch of his lips tickles and Timmy giggles in spite of himself. He can  _ hear _ Armie’s grin in the dark, and then Armie’s hands sweep down Timmy’s sides, pulling off his boxers and tossing them onto the floor so that Armie’s once again kneeling between Timmy’s legs.

 

He begins his campaign at Timmy’s feet, kissing the arches firmly, so it feels like love and not teasing. He chases his tongue with his thumbs, rubbing circles on the balls of Timmy’s feet so that Timmy melts a little more into the mattress, breathing deeply. Armie slides his hands up Timmy’s calves, almost encircling them whole, and when he reaches Timmy’s knees he pushes them apart, sliding his hands up to rest on Timmy’s hips. Timmy feels the breeze from the open window hit the insides of his thighs, the skin of his balls, and he whines and lifts his hips to push against Armie’s hands. 

 

“Still want me to show you?” Armie chuckles, canines flashing in the moonlight. Timmy can only nod. Armie chuckles again, deep, quickly, and then his mouth is on Timmy’s cock in the space of a blink. His hair falls forward, grazing Timmy’s stomach and tickling as he takes Timmy’s full length, hitting the back of his throat. When Armie pulls off he whimpers around Timmy’s cock, whispers again, “I’m sorry,” and then plants a line of kisses, gentle, open-mouthed, along the underside of Timmy’s dick. 

 

When Armie reaches the base of Timmy’s cock and keeps going Timmy openly whines, reaches down to stroke the spiky hairs at the crown of Armie’s head. He feels Armie’s tongue lave gently over his balls as Armie takes first one and then the other into his mouth, warming them, rolling their weight against his lips. When Armie’s finger nips at Timmy’s entrance he nods with increasing vigor until he realizes Armie can’t see him, and shows his approval by rolling his hips back to grant Armie easier access. Armie’s tongue quickly follows his hand, lapping a warm circle around the tight muscle until Timmy takes two deep breaths, opens himself up enough for one spit-slick finger and then two to move in a slow circle against Timmy’s pillowy insides. Timmy circles his hips to give Armie’s fingers new angles and when Armie hits a spot that has Timmy seeing stars against the black ceiling he mutters in French, cursing against the insides of his teeth.

 

“Viens ici,” he murmurs, tugging Armie’s shoulders until Armie’s mouth is even with his cock again, and this time Armie works his fingers inside Timmy while his warm mouth covers Timmy’s dick, falling in and out of the same rhythm until Timmy takes over with a rhythm of his own, orgasm building and pulsing at his temples and in his cock. Armie takes his free hand, moves it towards his own dick, and Timmy knocks it aside with his leg.

 

“Not till I say,” he commands, voice low from his moans and thick with desire. Armie obediently places his hand on the duvet, braces himself with it while Timmy bucks up into his mouth, clenching around Armie’s fingers and fisting his fingers in Armie’s hair as he comes. When Armie pulls off of him, slides his fingers out gently, Timmy draws a shuddering breath that quivers through his whole body, watches in fascination as his legs tremble with pent-up energy and satisfaction.

 

“Now.” Timmy says. “Now you can come.” He taps his chest, right between his nipples and just slightly toward his heart. Armie leans forward over him, braced on one arm, the other flying over his cock, and he presses his lips to Timmy’s for just a moment, just long enough for Timmy to taste himself there and flick his tongue teasingly into Armie’s mouth, before Armie pulls back again, his breaths coming as moans now, his support arm trembling, and just when Timmy thinks Armie might collapse before he comes he’s whimpering, guiding white ribbons of come onto exactly the spot Timmy pointed to, at least at first until he rides the orgasm to the end and dribbles come down Timmy’s chest towards his navel. Then Armie does collapse, beside Timmy again where it all began, and with his last spark of energy reaches down to grab Timmy’s discarded boxers and halfheartedly clean up Timmy’s chest. 

 

“Leave it,” Timmy mutters, sleepy now and soft. “W’ll get it in the m’rning.”

 

“You still mad at me?” Armie asks, nuzzling Timmy’s neck with his nose.

 

“Nahhh, just sleepy. Jus’...don’ do that nex’ time, hmmm?”

 

“OK, Tim. I promise. I love you.” 

 

Timmy rolls his head toward Armie, drops a kiss on his forehead. “Love you too, Armie. Goodnight.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm dreamofhorses42 on Tumblr, come say hi!


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